


Burying Grounds

by blondsak



Series: Irondad Bingo Fics [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Buried Alive, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: As he looks between the two graves, Tony’s mind grasps at the one thing he knows beyond all doubt.The man was right. Tony was going to hell.Indeed, he’s already there.(aka the buried alive fic I've been wanting to write for AGES. Written for Irondad Bingo. Trope: Angst.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this heaping helping of angst, my friends!

The first thing Tony registers upon regaining consciousness is the dank smell of earthen soil. He groans, trying to turn his head, only to realize that side of his face is pressed up against dry, scratchy dirt. All he sees is blurry green at first when he blinks his eyes open, before his vision clears to reveal wild grass only inches from his nose.

“What the...” he starts to say, only to groan when the very sound of his voice brings a pounding headache to the forefront of his senses.

_ What the hell is going on? Where am I? _

He sits up, eyes scrunching closed again from the pain, and tries to think.

He’d been out to lunch with Pepper and Peter, that much he knew. They’d been celebrating Peter finishing his final sophomore year exams at Midtown. The kid had studied his butt off for a month beforehand, even going so far as to beg off lab time, to Tony’s mild chagrin. Now that Peter’s week from hell was finally over, Tony had insisted on Pepper and himself treating the kid to Marco’s, AKA the best Italian joint in Manhattan.

If it was also because Tony missed having the kid around, well, who was to judge him for that?

They had just left the restaurant, bellies full, walking together down the empty alley where Tony had parked the car. 

All of a sudden Peter had come to an abrupt halt, Tony nearly barreling into him from behind. 

“Kid, what--”

Peter did a quick 180, and Tony needed only to register the fear in the kid’s eyes to know something bad was about to happen. 

“Mister Stark--”

The sharp prick in his neck was unexpected. It had felt exactly like a bee sting, and he instinctively raised his hand to it only for his fingers to feel a dart at the center-point of the pain. Just as he yanked it out there were twin gasps, and he looked up to see Peter jerk a similar dart out of his neck, eyes wide as he examined it. Tony swiveled his head to Pepper, who was pulling one out of her arm, a look of terror on her face. 

It was at that point that the world become unsteady, Tony’s vision darkening as he stumbled a bit before falling to the ground. He vaguely recalls the feeling of someone - probably Peter - weakly grabbing at his right arm, most likely trying to reach the watch he wore that connected him to Friday. But the hand, whomever’s it was, had quickly fallen away.

After that, there was nothing. Just waking up to the fresh scent of earth and grass and budding leaves.

Slowly, Tony opens his eyes again, letting them adjust to the light. He appears to be in a heavily wooded, remote area. He can hear a bird call every few seconds, but otherwise there is no sound but for the early summer wind rustling the leaves. It’s just him in a dense forest, no sounds of a nearby road or river or anything to guide him back to civilization. 

From the angle of the sun’s rays through the canopy, Tony can tell it’s either late afternoon or mid-morning, and he’s betting on the former considering it had only been noon or so when they’d been attacked.

He double-checks his wrist but his watch is predictably missing. Slowly Tony gets to his feet, still feeling slightly woozy, before patting down his pockets. 

Sure enough, his cellphone is also gone. “Shit.”

Just then he notices a small box in the grass next to where he had been left. It’s cardboard, the usual muted brown, nondescript and roughly half the size of a shoe box.

It’s clearly been left for him to open.

Tony picks it up carefully, examining it from every angle before cautiously shaking it. Something solid moves around inside, but Tony can’t hear a ticking sound when he lifts it to his ear so he figures he’ll have to take the risk. After all, it would be pointless to keep him alive this long only to blow him to pieces now.

The top comes off easily, revealing an old, scratched-up tape player.

Tony’s eyebrows furrow as he picks it up and drops the box, only to discover a note taped to the bottom of the technologically ancient device.

_ Play me. _

“Well, that’s not ominous,” Tony remarks, before hitting the large green play button.

There’s silence for a second or two, before a male voice Tony doesn’t recognize starts to speak.

_ “Good afternoon, Mister Stark. I’m sure you’re curious as to why you’ve found yourself in the middle of nowhere, as well as who it was that kidnapped you and left you here. Well, I have all the answers, as I’m sure you’re glad to hear, although I’ll only divulge a few of them here. _

_ “The why is easy enough. You’re here because someone I loved dearly, who I would have given my life for if I’d had the chance, was brutally murdered not even five years ago. That someone is my daughter, and she was all I had left in this world. The loss of her devastated me, and left me bereft, without purpose. For a few years I tried to work through my grief, to move on, to do what I thought she would want. But then I realized that would not be what she wanted at all. She would want her death avenged. Being an Avenger, you know all about that, don’t you? Surely you would agree then that the only way to truly find peace is to return the favor to the man who led her to her death. And that man? Is you, Tony Stark.” _

“Get to the fuckin’ point,” Tony grumbles, but inwardly he’s panicking, thinking of the two things he knows beyond a doubt.

First, he knows how speeches like this always end.

And second, he’s alone. No Pepper. No Peter. 

And those two things? Add up to a terrifying conclusion.

_ “Ah, but I digress. You don’t care about my reasons anyway, do you? No, right now you’re almost certainly wondering where your beautiful fiancee and beloved surrogate child are. Well, that’s another question I can answer. In your near vicinity there’s a particularly large tree with two prominent knots in its trunk. If you wish to find your loved ones, I suggest walking past that tree and continuing straight on for a quarter mile.” _

Tony doesn’t bother with walking, just takes off in the direction the man had said, going as fast as he can while still watching for roots and rocks among the thick grass. 

_ “Before you arrive, Mister Stark, I want you to know-- I am not a cruel man. I believe in justice. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, even stevens, and on and on. That said, as you took one loved one away from me, so I shall endeavor to take only one from you.” _

Tony’s breath hitches, his heart racing. He picks up his pace, hardly watching the ground anymore.

_ “Oh, and another thing-- when this is all said and done, don’t bother trying to find me. By the time this is all over, I’ll already be dead, I assure you. I may already be at this very moment.” _

There’s silence then, as if the man was pausing to listen to Tony’s own shaking breaths. As the silence goes on the trees abruptly thin out, and Tony finds himself entering a small clearing. 

In the middle of the clearing sit two mounds of earth, about ten feet apart, a metal shovel lying in between them. 

Tony runs up to them and lets out a strangled gasp when he sees two wooden crosses at the head of each one, both marked  _ P.P. _

“Oh my god,” he whispers as he stumbles up to the one closest, falling to his knees as he limply drops the tape player. It drops into the nearby grass as Tony begins to claw at the fresh, damp dirt mindlessly.

_ “Ah, have you arrived yet, Mister Stark? I assume my plan has become quite evident, but I’ll explain anyway. Peter Parker and Pepper Potts are indeed both buried alive before you. As I said, I’m not a cruel man, so neither are buried six feet deep, but a mere four and a half. By my calculations, your sedative should have worn off in time for you to dig one of them up before they run out of oxygen. However, as I’m sure you have realized by now, there is most unfortunately not enough time to save both.” _

A guttural moan escapes from Tony’s throat unbidden, his terror-stricken senses barely listening to the man anymore as he scrambles over the discarded tape player and grabs the shovel. 

_ “You took away my daughter, so now I’m taking away someone you love. But only one. Fair’s fair, after all.” _

He whips his head between the two graves before dashing back to the one he’d been pawing at and starting to dig. 

_ “I suppose the time has come for me to bid you adieu. I hope this tragedy opens your eyes to your past transgressions, Mister Stark. But most of all, I hope it makes you suffer beyond imagining.” _

Tony is hardly listening anymore, but the man’s next words hit him like a sucker punch.

_ “Oh, and one last thing. The grave on the right? Belongs to darling Peter.” _

Tony freezes, eyes frantically darting over to the other grave. To  _ Peter’s  _ grave. He's-- Tony’s standing over  _ Pepper _ .

“Oh, god, no,” Tony whispers, stricken.

_ “See you in hell, Mister Stark.” _

The play button on the tape player clicks, leaving only the sound of the warm, pleasant breeze whistling through the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

_ This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. _

Tony knows he needs to dig. Knows he has very limited time.

But right now he’s on his knees in the grass, shovel discarded. He claws at his hair, his face, his chest, desperately trying to stop the oncoming panic attack that’s doing everything in its power to overtake him.

Because this? This is  _ unfathomable. _

Picking the grave to start digging up when he didn’t know who was beneath-- Tony had done that easily, with hardly a second’s thought. 

But now he had a  _ choice _ .

An impossible, awful, terrible, truly  _ evil  _ choice.

It’s not a choice Tony can make. It’s simply  _ not _ . 

The fact is, he can’t bear to lose either of them.

As he looks between the two graves - one holding the love of his life, the other the child he adores beyond all compare - Tony’s mind grasps at the final, third thing he knows without a doubt.

The man was right. Tony was going to hell.

Indeed, he’s already there. 

Tony closes his eyes, tries to settle down his breathing. 

Gives himself half a minute to let all of this - the wind, the sun, the woods, the graves, the fear, the horror - go. 

He thinks of Peter’s laugh-- the bright, slightly self-conscious giggle that overcomes him when Tony makes a pithy quip. Tony has made some truly  _ awful  _ dad jokes, just to hear that sound.

He thinks of Pepper’s eyes-- how she can convey so much with them. Even before he fell in love with her, he was mesmerized by her ability to sort him out simply with a look.

He thinks of Peter’s fingers-- long and willowy, yet so steady in the lab and when he’s out swinging through the night.  _ Piano fingers _ , Tony’s mother would have called them, and Tony still thinks it’s a shame the kid’s never learned how to play. 

He thinks of Pepper’s handwriting-- the way she makes big loops on her P’s, as if to announce to the world  _ I’m Pepper Fuckin’ Potts and I’ll kick your ass if you come for me.  _ Tony has always admired the way she fights for what she wants, yet is never vicious.

Peter’s amusing fondness for stealing Tony’s hoodies. Pepper’s sweet daily text check-ins when she’s traveling. Peter’s ridiculous inability to grasp the divine perfection that is eighties rock and roll. Pepper’s adorable half-bitten lip when she’s working out a problem. 

Peter’s kindness. Pepper’s compassion. Peter’s bravery. Pepper’s strength.

Peter. Pepper.

Pepper. Peter.

There is no hierarchy to them, not for Tony. He just knows his love for both of them eclipses any other emotion he’s ever had.

Time’s up. It’s an impossible choice, but Tony still has to make it.

Tony opens his eyes. He stands up, picks up the shovel, walks over to one of the graves.

He takes a deep breath, and starts to dig.

* * *

Tony does the math, over and over and over.

84 by 28 by 23 inches. The average size of a casket.

That’s 54,096 cubic inches, or 886 liters.

The average human volume is 66 liters. That leaves 820 liters of air, or roughly 164 liters of oxygen.

If a panicking person in a confined environment consumes roughly 0.5 liters of oxygen a minute, that’s 30 liters per hour.

That gives Pepper and Peter five and a half hours total from the moment the casket was shut, so probably four and change from when Tony started digging before they run out of air. Roughly three and a half before the carbon monoxide build-up starts to do serious damage.

The man had said they were buried beneath four and a half feet of dirt.

The soil is dry, the area clearly having not seen rain in a few weeks. That makes it less heavy and easier to remove-- a point in his favor.

Yet even if Tony digs like a machine, it will take him at least three hours to reach just the one.

Tony does the math, over and over and over.

But all it keeps adding up to is that while he’ll probably save one person he loves, he’s almost certainly issuing a death sentence to the other.

* * *

As the waning afternoon sun dips below the tree line, the birds grow quiet while the crickets start to chirp. Tony barely registers any of it, forcing himself to focus on nothing but the next shovelful of dirt. 

Yet his mind still wanders.

He wonders if Peter and Pepper are awake. Hopes they’re not.

He can’t imagine how scared they must be, if they are. 

Can hardly bear to think of how terrified the person he’s not digging up could be at this very moment. 

Are they pounding on the casket door, screaming for help? Or worse, are they measuring their breaths, trying to save their oxygen supply, and quieting their panicking thoughts by reassuring themselves that Tony will find them-- that he’ll save them?

Or -  _ god  _ \- what if the man left them a tape too? What if they know the impossible choice Tony had to make? What if they’re worried he didn’t choose them?

And the worst part is, they’d be right.

Tears drip down Tony’s face, and he keeps his back turned to the other grave as much as he can, unable to face the failure it represents.

* * *

As Tony digs deeper, his back starts to ache fiercely. His arm and shoulder muscles are practically screaming at him to stop, to take a break.

But he can’t.

The person below is depending on him, and if he takes too long they might succumb to carbon monoxide poisoning before Tony even gets a chance to save them.

So he ignores the signals of agony his body is trying to send his mind and keeps digging, going as fast as he can without being sloppy and letting dirt fall back in the hole. 

The sun is nearly at the horizon line when the clearing is suddenly flooded with artificial light.

Tony does stop at that, looking around to see three battery-operated lawn lights in strategic points in the grass.

So the man really did intend for Tony to save one of his loved ones, Tony thinks to himself as he sets back to his work.

The irony of it - that the man who has essentially murdered one of the two most important people in Tony’s life took the time to consider that Tony would need light in order to save the other - pulls a bitter laugh from Tony’s parched throat. 

_ God _ , Tony hopes the man was lying about offing himself. Because if Tony doesn’t manage to miraculously save  _ both _ his kid and his fiancee, well. There is no world in which Tony won’t hunt this man down and make him pay for what he’s done.

Maybe he’ll even leave  _ him _ in a hole to slowly die. It would fit the man’s twisted sense of fairness, after all.

But even as Tony’s mind rages, waves of overwhelming grief keep crashing over him, leaving only unbearable guilt in their wake.

Because the man had given Tony a choice, and chosen Tony had.

_ I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so goddamn sorry. _

* * *

Tony’s body is threatening to give out on him when the shovel finally,  _ finally  _ hits something solid. 

He had been so focused and methodical up to now but the moment Tony hears the dull  _ thud _ he loses all control. His movements become erratic, dirt flying everywhere as he frantically removes shovelful after shovelful. Spots start to crowd his vision as his heart rate skyrockets, but still he continues on. Eventually he flings the shovel away and starts pushing dirt off with his arms.

It’s a plain wooden casket, nothing fancy but completely solid and shut good and tight. Through the buzzing in his ears Tony can hear what sounds like muted moaning coming from inside, but nothing else.

“Please, please,  _ please _ ,” he whispers as he frantically unclasps the three lock mechanisms along the side, allowing the door of the casket to be wedged open.

The person inside is blindfolded, with a matching cloth wrapped around their mouth as well. Their hands are also bound together.

They’re trying to scream through the gag, kicking out and flinging themselves up as if to fight an unknown enemy.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Tony reassures, and they quiet down immediately. 

Tony removes the blindfold first, and the sight of their red-rimmed eyes has Tony crying again too.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispers, dropping the blindfold and moving to undo the bindings around their wrists as they sit up.

As soon as Tony has them undone they yank off their gag and throws themselves into Tony’s open arms, sobbing.

“Oh god, oh my god.”

“It’s okay,” Tony repeats, before kissing their temple and turning his face away when a sob of relief escapes. Finally he pulls back, looking into their eyes again. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe now, Pep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts <3


	3. Chapter 3

“Tony,” Pepper says, still wrapped up in his arms. “Oh god.  _ Tony. _ ”

“You’re okay, I got you out,” Tony reassures, giving her one more giant squeeze before pulling away.

Although Tony could easily hold Pepper for a million years, there’s a reason he chose her and not Peter.

A reason that could make all the difference in the world. A reason that, however infinitesimal the chance, might save Peter too.

“Give me your left hand.”

Pepper’s brow furrows, but she lifts her hand up to Tony, who takes it in his own.

He focuses in on her engagement ring, clasping the diamond with his thumb and pointer finger. Pepper gasps when he starts to twist to the right, unscrewing it until it pops off, Tony carelessly flinging the gem into the dirt.

Beneath where the diamond had been is a small button. Tony presses down on it and holds for five seconds, until it starts to blink.

He lets go of Pepper’s hand, who looks at the blinking light in astonishment before giving Tony a scrutinizing stare.

“You put a tracker in my--”

“Technically a GPS panic button,” Tony absentmindedly replies as he climbs out of the hole then helps Pepper out as well. He picks up the shovel and races over to the other grave - to  _ Peter _ \- and begins to dig. “I don’t even know if it’ll work since the tech is from ‘08 and coded to JARVIS but with any luck Friday will pick it up and alert the team and--”

“Oh my god,” Pepper interrupts him. “Tony, please don’t tell me Peter is. . .”

Tony keeps digging, refusing to look at Pepper, afraid he’ll see the same terror he feels reflected in her eyes. He opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out except an incoherent hum. Because even though the signal was broadcasting and there’s a real chance the team could be here - wherever  _ here  _ is - in a matter of minutes, the fact remains that Peter is still buried, trapped and rapidly running out of time.

He could so very easily slip away before Tony gets to him. 

A hand lands on his bicep, halting him. He turns as Pepper moves her hand from his arm to the shovel. 

“Tony, let me do it.”

Tony looks into her eyes, sees the determination there. He relinquishes the shovel, and she immediately digs into the grave, going at triple the pace he had been.

“We’re going to save Peter,” Pepper says, glancing back and forth between him and her work. “Do you understand me, Tony? He’s going to be  _ fine. _ ”

Her voice is wet with tears, but there’s a steel undercurrent that brooks no argument. Tony collapses to the ground, trying his best to hide the hopelessness he’s feeling.

“I hear you, Pepper,” he softly responds as he leans over and starts to scoop dirt away with his hands. It’s not very effective but Tony can’t sit and do nothing, not when Peter’s life hangs in the balance.

They work together in silence after that, both lost in their worry. As grateful as Tony is that Pepper is okay, the fear that this might be all for nothing is all-consuming. They’ve easily reached the three and a half hours mark, and Tony knows the carbon monoxide has to be seriously affecting Peter at this point.

He’s not sure what he’ll do if they open that casket only to find a corpse-- an empty shell where so much brightness once lived. 

Probably wrap himself around Peter and tell Pepper to close the door and leave him there, if he’s honest.

Because Tony can’t live in a world without Peter. He simply can’t. Just like he can’t live without Pepper.

And he  _ absolutely _ can’t live with himself knowing he’s the reason the kid is dead. It doesn’t even matter if what the man on the other end of the tape player claimed is true. It won’t change the fact he only went after Peter because of how much the kid means to Tony.

It also won’t change the fact that Tony had the option to dig Peter out first. Sure, one could argue that doing so would have condemned Pepper to death, whereas now there was still at least a sliver of hope the team would show up in minutes and they’d both be rescued.

But Tony’s guilt complex won’t listen to reason, not if Peter dies. Because the fact still remains that if he had dug Peter out first, the kid would have been just fine either way.

God, how could that man possibly say he’s not cruel?

Tony can dream of no greater cruelty than having to live permanently with the all-consuming darkness currently threatening to replace his soul.

“Do you hear that?”

Tony glances up at Pepper, who has stopped digging to stare up at the dark evening sky. 

He turns his head to the sky but by then the sound is easily distinguishable.

“That’s the quinjet,” Tony says just as it comes into view, standing up shakily and running over to meet them. The clearing isn’t large enough for it to land, so instead it hovers just above the treetops. The bottom hatch opens and Sam pops out, flying down just as Steve jumps down behind him and lands on the ground. 

“Tony, we’ve been look--”

“Steve, it’s Peter,” Tony interrupts him, gesturing to the grave as Pepper continues to dig behind him. “That man buried-- he’s fucking trapped down there, and--  _ please _ .”

Steve eyes the two graves, the crosses marked  _ P.P. _

“Oh god,” he says, before turning to Sam. “Get Wanda down here  _ now _ .”

“On it.”

As Sam flies back to the hovering quinjet, Steve turns to Tony. “How long?”

Tony shakes his head, looking at the grave again before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I-I don’t know, but it’s close to-- he could be--”

Steve’s hand grips his shoulder, the gesture immediately steadying Tony just like it always does.

“Tony, we’re going to get him out. Everything will be okay.”

“You don’t  _ know that _ ,” Tony whispers desperately just as Sam lands on the grass again, this time with Wanda.

She doesn’t waste a moment, running over where Pepper’s still digging, the three men on her heels.

“Stand back.”

Pepper immediately does so, dropping the shovel and going to stand near Tony, taking one of his shaking hands and intertwining it with her own.

Wanda’s hands glow red as she lifts her arms, the sparks flying out toward the grave and into the dirt. Within moments Peter’s casket appears, soil falling away. With careful grace Wanda moves the casket over to just in front of the group, gently setting it down. 

Her magic recedes as Tony stumbles down to the ground.

“Peter?” he calls desperately as he undoes all the clasps and lifts up the door.

_ “Peter.” _

Because there’s his kid, lying still and pale. 

Unlike Pepper, he had been able to break his bonds and remove his blindfold and gag, the remains of all three strewn around the sides of the casket. His lids and lips are tinted a soft blue, head turned to the side where a small pile of vomit lays just inches from his nose. His hair is more curled than usual due to now-evaporated sweat, making him look even younger than his mere sixteen years.

Tony hadn’t been able to admit the possibility to himself, not truly, not without seeing the kid. But now, he can’t deny it. 

Peter looks  _ dead. _

An incoherent moan escapes from Tony’s throat as he leans over, wrapping his arms around Peter and pulling his torso up so they’re chest-to-chest, the kid’s head lolling onto his shoulder. Steve crouches next to him, taking Peter’s legs and together the two of them lift Peter out of his wooden tomb and set him onto the soft grass.

“Peter?  _ Kid? _ ”

Tony presses shaking fingers to Peter’s neck, checking for a pulse. When he doesn’t feel anything he immediately panics, fearing the worst.

“I-- god, no,” he whispers desperately. He turns to Steve. “I can’t--”

Steve leans down, lowering his head and putting an ear to Peter’s chest as he hovers a hand centimeters above the kid’s mouth.

The next few moments are agony as Tony and the others wait for a verdict. He stares at Peter’s slack features, desperately wishing the kid would open his eyes, let out a groan, fucking start to yodel--  _ anything _ but continue to look so limp and ashen-faced.

_ Please, please, I’ll do anything. Don’t take him from me. Please. _

Steve finally lifts his head, moving his hand from Peter’s mouth and resting it on his forehead before turning to look at Tony.

“He’s alive.” 

_ “Oh god _ ,” Tony cries, running a hand through the kid’s hair and smiling down at him.

_ Thank you for holding on, kid. _

Tony’s absolute relief at Steve’s pronouncement is shattered when the other man continues, “But only just. His heart’s sluggish and he’s barely breathing.”

Steve leans over Peter’s face, giving him two rescue breaths.

As Steve sits back and moves on to compressions Tony leans down, cupping Peter’s pale cheek with his palm while touching their foreheads together. “C’mon, kiddo, you need to  _ fight _ .”

He vaguely registers Steve stand up and call for someone, and soon there’s another presence crouched next to him. 

“Tony, let me take Pete,” Sam says softly. 

Tony gives Peter a quick forehead kiss before nodding and standing up. He steps over toward Pepper who takes his hand again as Sam gently adjusts the kid in his arms before flying up to the quinjet.

“He’s going to be okay, Tony,” Pepper assures him again.

Tony squeezes her fingers but doesn’t reply. 

Because while Peter may be alive, he wasn’t waking up. Even Tony couldn’t deny what a bad sign that was. 

_ Please, kid. Don’t let go. _

_ I need you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or over on [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter 4

_ Tony stands mere feet away, helpless, as Sam and Bruce attach all manner of machines and IVs to Peter. Anything to keep his heart beating, his lungs inflating, his future more than a broken dream. _

_ Tony knows the names of each machine, knows what they do, what they’re for. What he doesn’t understand - can never compute - is what it means that they’re hooked up to Peter. Because Peter shouldn’t need them-- not his kid. Not ever. _

_ “Damnit, his O2 levels aren’t rising,” Sam hisses, more to himself than anyone else. Tony spots Nat and Clint looking back from where they’re stationed at the controls, twin expressions of worry on their faces. Nat catches Tony’s eye, gives him a reassuring nod before turning back to face front. _

_ Pepper had only left Tony’s side for the short trip up to the jet, and she squeezes her fingers around his now, causing him to slowly look away from the horror before him to meet her concerned gaze. _

_ “Tony, let’s go sit down,” she says kindly, head nodding to the row of seats currently occupied only by Wanda and Steve. Wanda has her eyes solely fixed on Peter, and Tony swears he can see a hint of red in them even now. Steve, on the other hand, catches Tony’s gaze for just a split second before he looks back at Peter with a devastated expression. Unlike Wanda, Tony can tell Steve is equally worried over both him and the kid. He’s probably hoping Tony will agree to sit down so he can quit wondering if he’ll have to catch Tony should he collapse. _

_ Tony certainly feels like he could collapse. Pepper probably has a point about sitting, he thinks. _

_ He opens his mouth to tell her as much when suddenly-- _

_ “Shit, he’s seizing!” _

_ Tony’s head whips back to where Peter is now bucking against the examination table, limbs jerking every which way as Bruce and Sam quickly move to lay him on his side. _

_ Tony can’t see half of Peter’s face due to the oxygen mask but it doesn’t obscure how ashen his cheeks are, how blue the bags under his eyes have become-- can’t cover up how little air he’s receiving. Watching his kid suffocate suddenly has Tony feeling like he’s the one who can’t breathe, and his knees start to buckle. _

_ But then Steve is right there, just as he feared he’d need to be, holding Tony up and maneuvering him back the few feet behind to slump into a seat. Steve plops down next to him, his arm around Tony’s shoulder only tightening while Pepper kneels down before him, cupping his face. _

_ She keeps trying to get him to look at her, but Tony only has eyes for Peter. _

_ Peter, who goes from wildly jerking about to suddenly limp, one of the machines wailing. _

_ “He’s flatlining,” Bruce announces to Sam, the two of them turning Peter on his back again, Bruce jerking the oxygen mask off to give rescue breaths before checking the IV lines while Sam starts on the compressions.  _

_ It’s almost graceful, Tony thinks absurdly, the way they work in tandem. It’d be something truly beautiful if only they weren’t performing a dance of death. _

_ If only it wasn’t Peter, his kid-- his  _ son _ they’re performing it over.  _

_ “Tony?” _

_ It’s his fault, Tony knows, the air around him becoming that much more difficult to suck in. He did this. He killed his kid. _

_ “Tony?” _

_ It’s his fault its his fault his beloved child is going to die and it’ll be all his fault, god, Peter-- _

“Tony, wake up.”

Tony awakes with a jolt, startling at the hand that rests on his back. 

He sits up from wherever he’d fallen asleep, recognizes within seconds that he’s leaning awkwardly over the side of Peter’s medbay bed. He stretches out the aches from the odd angle he’d succumbed to, before glancing up.

Steve stands over him, looking down in concern. “Nightmare?”

“Nah,” Tony replies, voice rough as he takes in the sight of Peter. He has a tube in his throat and remains motionless besides his mechanical breaths-- exactly as he’d been before Tony passed out. 

He looks back toward Steve with a mirthless grin. “It can only be a nightmare if it’s worse than reality.”

Tony wonders then if Steve hadn’t woken him-- would the dream-memory have ended not with Sam and Bruce reviving the kid as had actually occurred, but with Tony losing Peter for good?

His breath stutters at the thought and he finds himself reaching for Peter’s closest hand, fingers ghosting over the bandages there. 

Tony hadn’t had time to notice the injuries by the grave or on the jet, but Cho had included them in her report: four bloody half-crescents on each of Peter’s palms, no doubt from digging fingernails into flesh out of sheer terror as he waited for hours in the dark. Waited until he vomited from the poison filling up what he must surely have thought would be his tomb. Waited until he succumbed to it entirely, probably cursing the day Tony knocked on his door while also begging for the man to save him.

Had Tony managed to save him? The jury was still out on that one.

“How’s Pete doing?” Steve asks softly after a few minutes of silence, mindful of where May sleeps in an armchair in the far corner of the room, wrapped up in blankets. The poor woman hadn’t even known anything was amiss until Happy had knocked on her door, demanding she come with him right away. 

Tony sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Well, he’s still in a coma, obviously. Cho thinks his healing factor might be performing a sort of triage, going after the cardiovascular damage first. It would explain why his palms have yet to fully heal.” Tony continues to caress Peter’s fingers, mindful of the wounds on his palm. “But the EEG from this morning showed only marginal improvement, and in any case there’s no way to know if his healing factor extends to neurological function. If it doesn’t. . .”

_ Peter might never wake up.  _

“Tony, it hasn’t even been thirty-six hours yet. I’m sure he just needs some more time. Pete’ll bounce back, won’t ya kid?” Steve grips one of the kid’s feet through his blankets, giving it a gentle squeeze. The soft smile for Peter turns sober as he glances back up at Tony. 

“So, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Ah, Cap, I’m flattered but I’m afraid I’m already taken.”

Steve gives him an annoyed smirk, before his face turns grim once more. “Natasha just got back from upstate-- a small town near the burial site. Tony, does the name Paul Hansen mean anything to you?”

Tony searches his mind, comes up blank. He shakes his head, Steve nodding as though that’s what he expected.

“Nat put together a file on him, but-- he’s a retired career Marine, with a spotless record to match. Wife died in ‘09, and their only daughter four years later. The police found him dead in a van yesterday morning, about twenty miles away from where we tracked the three of you. Gunshot wound to the head, self-inflicted.”

Steve lets out a soft sigh, voice somehow going even quieter. “He was the man who kidnapped you, Pete and Pepper, and. . . he was also the father of Maya Hansen.”

Tony just stares at Steve in disbelief for a few seconds, before a heartless snicker breaks through his lips. He buries his head in his hands. When he looks back up he’s still bitterly chuckling, even as the fury begins to grow in his gut.

Steve is staring at him like he’s gone insane, which only makes Tony snicker harder. “C’mon Steve-- surely you can appreciate the irony in Maya Hansen’s father trying to murder  _ Pepper. _ ”

Tony goes deadly quiet, the fury having wound its way into the pitch-black groove in his soul that his kid normally keeps alight.

“Pepper, the person who took out Aldrich Killian-- the  _ actual murderer _ of Maya Hansen.”

Steve nods in understanding before continuing, tone wary. “Tony, we both know SHIELD covered up the real circumstances surrounding the Mandarin attacks. Whatever Hansen was told about his daughter’s death, it certainly wasn’t the truth. And between the media speculation about how exactly you were connected to the plot and Maya’s ties to Killian, well. . .”

Steve swallows, eyes flickering away from Tony then, as if nervous to voice his next thoughts. “I can see how someone without all the intel could come to a horrifically wrong conclusion. Grief can cause people to do terrible things.”

Tony opens his mouth to protest when Steve gives a long sigh, adding, “He may have felt he had no choice.”

Steve’s last few words hit Tony like a sucker punch, and he wipes a hand over his face, jaw so tight it’s a wonder he hasn’t cracked a tooth. 

Perhaps Hansen thought he had no choice, but he certainly left Tony with a hellish one.

He looks over at Peter’s slack features, his rage at Hansen falling away as quickly as it arose. 

_ And if you died, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience. _

“I knew it was gonna be Pepper.”

“What?”

Tony looks over, right into Steve’s eyes. “Hansen, he told me who was in each grave. He wanted to make me choose. So I did. I chose my fiancee over a child-- a child I love at that. . . and look what’s come of it.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and Tony turns back to Peter before he can catch the disdain he knows he’s rightfully earned.

“I deserve to rot in hell for what I’ve done to him.”

Steve scoffs, sounding absolutely disgusted. “You don’t really think that, do you? Tony, you made the same call we all would’ve made-- rescuing the person with the GP--”

“Hansen’s definitely dead?”

“Nat went to the morgue herself.”

Tony turns his head just enough to nod at Steve, eyes still trained on his kid. “Then it no longer matters what either he or I think. The only thing that matters is Peter.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and Tony can feel the uncertainty of whether to push oozing from the captain. Finally the man lets out an exasperated sigh, and Tony knows he's won.

“I’m going to go update the team.” Steve’s hand grips his shoulder yet again. “Don’t forget, we’re all here for you, Tony. For Peter, Pepper, May, yeah-- but also for you. Don’t bottle this forever.”

Tony moves his hand from the kid’s to grip Steve’s briefly, before placing it back over Peter’s. Steve squeezes his shoulder a final time, before quietly making his way out the door.

For a few minutes Tony just sits there, staring at Peter, searching his mind for the right things to say. The first few words, when he finally gives voice to them, are whispered and tentative.

“Listen, underoos. I know what happened to you had to have been just-- fuckin’ awful. I can’t imagine what you went through, trapped down in that damn tomb. But, we need you back up here now, okay? You aunt needs you, your friends need you, the team, Pepper. . . _ ” _

Tony scootches forward in his chair, running a gentle hand through Peter’s curls, voice turning watery. “And I know that after what I did, I don’t deserve you. But I need you to know - even though you have no reason to trust me, not after this - I’m going to stick around long enough to at least make sure you’re okay.”

Tony swipes a fallen tear away, taking a moment to compose himself before turning back to Peter and putting a hand over the kid’s heart, finding comfort in the steadiness of the beats beneath his palm.

“So please, kiddo, wherever you are, no matter how dark it is or how trapped you feel. . . keep digging yourself out, okay? Don’t give up. ‘Cause when you finally climb out, when you clear that very last edge-- I’ll be here waiting for you, I promise. Just like you hung on for m-- for your aunt, and friends, and the team.”

He leans forward, planting a gentle kiss at Peter’s temple before carefully laying his head over the boy’s clavicle, hand still resting over the kid's heart.

“I’m so sorry, Pete. Please, come back.” Tony closes his eyes, praying Peter will have somehow heard him-- that the kid will listen for once, even if Tony is the last person worthy of guiding him now. 

It’s not long before Peter's deep, even breaths lull Tony back to what he can only hope is a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Come scream at me in the comments or over on [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Only one more chapter to go, folks <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks-- the finale!
> 
> **Trigger warning** for some fairly graphic body horror. To skip, just scroll until you hit the non-italicized section.

_ Tony stands in the clearing. It’s a dark, overcast day-- not even a hint of sun. _

_ He doesn’t remember how he got here, but he’s not alone. _

_ Nearby, a group of people - all in black suits and dresses - stand crowded in a tight circle. _

_ Tony staggers over - “What the hell?” - only to realize it's his teammates. Steve, Wanda, Sam, Nat, Clint, Bruce, even-- Thor? _

_ “I thought you were offworld?” Tony blurts. Thor doesn’t answer, or even look at him-- in fact, none of them do. They just continue to stare forward at something Tony can’t see. He looks around at the gathered crowd. When he spots a familiar frame nearer the front, he makes his way over. _

_ “Pep?” _

_ She doesn’t respond, only shakes her head a bit. That’s when Tony notices May, standing on the other side of Pepper, Ned softly patting her back as she cries.  _

_ “May, what’s--” _

_ She points with a trembling finger, and that’s when Tony finally looks down at what everyone is staring at. _

_ It’s a fresh grave, and at the head of it is a stone that reads-- it reads-- _

_ “No!” Tony cries at seeing the name PETER BENJAMIN PARKER. _

_ He stares at it in shock before looking frantically around. His kid is trapped-- why is nobody doing anything? _

_ “Why are you all just  _ standing _ here? We need to get him out!” _

_ Tony moves to kneel, intent on digging Peter out with his bare hands if he has to, when Steve grabs him around his chest from behind, trapping him in a steel grip. _

_ “Let me go! We need to get him out, he needs help, he needs--” _

_ “You’re too late, Tony.” _

_ Tony shakes his head, tries to kick and hit at Steve, do anything he can because-- _

_ “No. No! Let me go!” _

_ “You let him die.” _

_ “Oh god,” Tony cries, because it’s true, it’s true. Peter is dead, and it’s because of Tony. Because Tony chose him-- a lamb for the slaughter. _

_ His child is dead, and it’s all his fault. _

_ Tony sags in Steve’s arms, and the man throws him to the ground. He lands on his knees over the grave, elbows digging into the soil.  _

_ Then a mangled hand appears, clutching at his wrist. Tony screams, jumping back as a rotting arm reaches out from beneath the earth.  _

_ He looks on in horror as Peter’s decomposing corpse claws out of its own grave. The kid is skeletal, his curls matted with entire tufts missing. Ragged clothes hang off him, and there’s an empty socket where an eye should be. His jaw is crooked, and Tony can see bone and blood where the skin has sloughed off his face. Every limb is deformed but eerily melded, as though the kid’s healing factor lasted just long enough to fuse the bones-- just long enough to form a disfigured abomination out of his child.  _

_ Thick ropes of decayed entrails drag behind the boy as he crawls through the grass, skittering as if to attack and then slow, halting-- a stalking spider. Tony makes panicked choking sounds as he scrambles backwards right into Steve, who holds him in place. _

_ “Why, Mister Stark?” Peter snarls in a voice warped by death, head twisting like a predator scrutinizing prey. “Why did you let me die?” _

_ “No, no please, I didn’t mean to!” Tony cries. “I’m so sorry Peter. I’m sorry!” _

_ “Mister Stark?” _

_ Tony cowers, curling into a ball and clutching at his head-- anything to reject the horror before him. “God, Peter, forgive me! Peter, please, god, no, please--” _

“Mister Stark!”

Tony’s eyes snap open to reveal a figure standing over him, their hand on his arm.

“Wha’sit. . .” Tony sits up in the dark, the hand falling away. He’s in his own bed, twisted in the sheets, absolutely coated in sweat.

“Hey Friday, can you turn the lights up a little, please?” the other person asks. The room goes from near-total dark to a low, soft glow. 

Peter stands only a foot away from Tony, curls askew and wearing his Hello Kitty pajama pants. That’s right-- the kid was staying over for the weekend.

Tony swipes a hand over his face-- a weak effort at wiping away the lingering traces of tears he can feel on his cheeks.  _ Thank god, it wasn’t real. _

It had been months since the kidnapping, Peter having woken up from his coma five agonizing days afterward. The kid had rebounded quickly in every way, it seemed, except for sleep-- his mind torturing him with memories of being trapped in the earth. He would wake up screaming, calling for Tony, May, even sometimes Pepper or members of the team. 

It had been Tony’s sole focus those first few months-- making sure Peter was properly recovering. He’d gotten the kid the best - and most discreet - therapist money could buy, and made himself available 24/7 for anything from late night texts to impromptu visits. Anything to make sure Peter didn’t become the emotional wreck Tony’s various traumas had twisted his own self into-- until he was nothing more than a cheap photocopy of a photocopy, a knock-off dollar store version of the person he so desperately wanted to be.

Pepper had taken it mostly in a strong, quiet stride, having assured an anxious Tony that as she was already  _ in _ therapy she didn’t need more. But she also pledged to share with Tony when the memories of the ordeal were too much to bear, and she had kept that promise-- even though it meant more than a few nights where they stayed awake until dawn, just holding each other.

As for Peter, he had finally seemed to turn a corner about a month ago, his nightmares all but gone. Which, of course, is when Tony started having nightmares of his own. 

(It hadn’t helped Tony’s guilt factor when the night Peter had his first nightmare about it, the kid ‘fessed up to having been previously trapped under an  _ entire fucking building _ during the fight with Toomes-- a fight he had been thrown into only  _ after _ Tony had taken away the suit, leaving Peter truly defenseless outside of his abilities and resourcefulness. The guilt spiral that ensued when Peter hesitantly shared  _ that  _ little nugget was intense, to say the least.)

Normally Pepper was there to wake Tony up before his own nightmares got too bad, but at the moment she was in Johannesburg-- her first business trip since the kidnapping. Tony wasn’t handling her absence too well, though it helped having the kid around.

Speaking of-- Peter is still standing there, watching Tony carefully. “You were yelling my name in your sleep. Are you okay?”

Tony nods gently - still too relieved to be embarrassed - and lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, kiddo, I’m okay. I’m sorry I woke you up. You can go back to bed though-- I’ll be fine.” 

“I want to stay, if that's okay.”

Tony squints at that, but the kid looks completely serious, not an ounce of hesitation to the offer. Almost as if he knows that nearly every night the last few weeks Tony had woken up a mess only to immediately wish Peter was close by-- close enough that Tony could physically reassure himself of the kid’s well-being. 

Tony should probably say no, but the kid is already here, and god knows he won’t get any more sleep on his own.  _ Oh, fuck it. _

“You know what? Why not. Hop on in, underoos.”

Peter gives him a victorious smile before leaping _ over  _ the bed and Tony to land gracefully on the other side. 

Tony lets out a melodramatic huff. “You’re a real show-off, you know that?”

The kid just giggles in response, slipping under the covers and then turning on his side to face Tony, who twists to mirror him.

Tony doesn’t ask Friday to turn off the lights, knowing Peter prefers the glow-- a remnant of those torturous hours caged in the dark.

They lay in silence for a minute or two, before Peter gets a thoughtful look on his face, his gaze moving down to somewhere near Tony’s right clavicle.

“I remember it, y’know.”

Tony sucks in a breath, heart heavy. “I know you do, Pete,” he breathes out. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

“No, I don’t mean when I was trapped,” Peter replies. “When I was in a coma. I remember what you said to me.”

Tony freezes, heart hammering in his chest.

Peter softly continues, “Some parts are more fuzzy than others, of course, but I remember the feeling of-- like I was still stuck in a box in the ground, with no way to escape. And I was all alone, and super scared.” 

Peter glances back up at him, their eyes meeting. “But then I heard you there in the dark, telling me to keep going, and it was suddenly like. . . I knew I could do it. And I knew you were going to stay right there by my side while I did, ‘cause you promised you would and you  _ never _ break your promises to me.”

Peter says that last part almost reverentially, and the kid’s complete trust-- well, it floors Tony, in the worst of ways.

_ I don’t deserve this.  _ Tony closes his eyes, trying to blink back traitorous tears.

Because Peter can’t count on him, not really. Tony had proven that back in the clearing, when he stood over the graves of the two people he loved most and then picked the _ other person. _

Peter is long out of that grave, thank god-- but Tony suspects he might’ve taken the kid’s place.  _ Here Lies Tony Stark, Crushed to Death by Guilt. May He Never Find Peace. _

The realization comes with it a piercing clarity-- the kid is truly  _ okay  _ now. Which is exactly what Tony vowed to stick around to ensure. But now the task is done, which means Tony needs to come clean-- damn the consequences. 

_ He’s better off without you anyway. _

Peter keeps talking, oblivious to Tony’s inner turmoil. “That’s what helped me get better from the nightmares finally too, I think. Just knowing that you’d always be here, always help me get out from--”

“Pete, there’s something I need to tell you.”

The kid’s mouth shuts like a slammed door, expression morphing from content to concerned. “Okay, uh, the way you said that just now sounded  _ really _ ominous, Mister Stark. What’s up?”

Tony takes a deep, shaky breath.  _ No turning back now.  _

“Hansen, he. . . before, back on that day-- he told me who was who. I knew before I even started digging that I would find Pepper first, and that you--”

He cuts himself off, choking up. He can’t say the rest aloud, can’t give voice to the horrors he’s inflicted. But he can tell by Peter’s wide-eyed stare that he gets it, that he’s processing what Tony’s saying.

Peter says nothing, just continues to fixate while Tony attempts to push down his panic, trying to prepare for the rejection he knows is imminent. But then Peter, as always, surprises him. 

“I know.”

Tony blinks once, twice. “What do you mean, you  _ know?” _

Peter gives a sleepy, one-shouldered shrug. “I just told you I heard everything you said, which included some - pardon my French, Mister Stark - some  _ bullshit _ about not deserving me after what you’d done, yada yada yada. So I asked Captain Rogers about it a few days after I woke up and he told me what happened.”

Tony’s at a loss. “Wait a damn minute. So you’ve known this whole time, and-- I don’t-- Peter--”

He takes a steadying breath, trying to figure out how in the world Peter hasn’t  _ seen  _ it-- seen what Tony’s  _ done _ . 

“Kid. I let you languish in a fuckin’ box to the point you nearly  _ died _ . How can you possibly still trust--”

“Well, duh.” Peter rolls his eyes, but with a soft smile, as though he’s more amused than annoyed. “Mister Stark, you were stuck with maybe the world’s most awful choice in the history of  _ ever _ , and you  _ still _ managed to save both me and Pepper. Of course I trust you, and more than pretty much anyone-- or, well, tied with May at least.”

They sit in silence, Peter smiling bemusedly at him as Tony absorbs this new revelation. Peter  _ knows _ , he  _ had known  _ this whole time, and he somehow doesn’t blame Tony for it. In fact, he trusts him even  _ more _ .

Tony shakes his head, once again trying to blink back tears even as he lets out a disbelieving laugh. He feels lighter than he has in months, ever since he’d stumbled into that clearing and his own real-life hell. He’d been so terribly afraid of losing Peter, first to the choice he’d made and then from the consequences of making it known. 

Yet here Tony was, with the kid Hansen had done everything in his power to ensure Tony couldn’t keep. This amazing, incredible, truly  _ good _ kid. And Tony got to keep him-- him and Pepper both. 

He gives Peter a watery smile, leaning over to give the kid a one-arm hug Peter immediately returns, ruffling the kid’s hair as he does.

“Thanks, underoos,” he whispers wetly, before leaning back to lie down on his side again. “Though for the record, I still don’t think I deserve you.”

“Pardon my French again, Mister Stark, but that’s really fu--”

“Pete, you won’t ever change my mind on that, so don’t even try.”

Peter rolls his eyes again, only for them to close as he lets out a yawn, burrowing into the covers. “I’m gonna get you to agree with me one of these days. Is Loki’s scepter still hanging around?I bet I could use that to--”

“Good night, kid.”

“Night, Mister Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider taking a moment to leave a comment either below or over on my [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> 'Til next time <3 <3 <3


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